


The Cage

by ZoyciteM



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dark fic, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Manipulation, Emotionally Hurt Sam, Face-Fucking, Gun Kink, Gun Violence, Gunplay, Horror, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Sam Winchester, Knifeplay, Lucifer's Cage, M/M, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Rape, Torture, Very Dark Fic, Very Very Dark Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 07:35:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6508816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoyciteM/pseuds/ZoyciteM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is trapped in the cage with Michael and Lucifer - until help arrives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cage

**Author's Note:**

> Something a little darker.

Sam knelt, cowering, covering his head with shaking hands. He knew this was Hell – he knew he was trapped in the cage, and he knew just as well that there wasn't any way out.

Lucifer and Michael didn't seem to be anywhere near, but Sam cowered anyway, reflexively. Sometimes... sometimes they went easier on him, when they came to him and found him already cowering. Sometimes they didn't.

“Sam!” 

Sam froze – that hadn't been Lucifer's snide, drawling voice, nor Michael's slightly aloof, calmer tones. Lucifer tended to manifest as Nick, when he was tormenting Sam, and Michael as a young version of Sam's own father, years before Sam had ever been born. But they also came after Sam wearing a hundred different faces, depending on their moods, and what they thought would most traumatize him on any given day.

They came as fear, as shadows and hatred and pain and loss.

“Sam! Jesus Christ!”

Someone touched Sam – touched his shoulder – and it wasn't a blade or a bullet, searing heat or piercing ice. It didn't hurt at all, and that frightened Sam more than anything else. His breath stopped in his chest.

But that voice... Sam almost thought he should know that voice. 

The person beside him dropped to his knees beside Sam, in the filth and rust and sticky, drying blood. The hand on Sam's shoulder gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Sammy, man, can you hear me?”

Sam gasped in the tiniest breath, turning his head just a little and daring to glance up at the person beside him. He braced himself – he'd been flayed for less, eviscerated for less.

He knew that face, the worried expression, the freckles spattered over nose and cheekbones, the emerald eyes, but he was too frightened to speak.

_Dean??_

“Sammy, look, we gotta go. I'm getting you the hell out of here.” The hand on Sam's shoulder moved, and lifted Sam's arm, pulling him to his feet. Dean slung Sam's arm across his shoulders, holding it in place, and wrapped his other around Sam's waist.

Dean pulled Sam along, Sam's steps weak and faltering.

Sam didn't know what to think, what to believe. He was afraid to hope. “De... Dean?”

It was the first word that had left Sam's mouth in a long time that hadn't been agonized pleading.

“Yeah, Sammy. Dammit, help me out here. We have to _go_ , before they fucking find us.”

Sam tried to support his own weight a little better, to move his feet faster. It was hard – he was almost always on his knees. Lucifer and Michael liked him better that way.

“How...”

“A reaper opened a gate for us.” Dean dragged Sam down a simulacrum of a hallway, nearly every inch of the walls and ceiling splattered with blood that Sam knew was his. Eventually they reached a staircase, which wound out of sight.

Sitting on the bottom step was Dean, smiling like a predator, his eyes midnight black.

“What. The fuck.” The Dean beside Sam loosened his grip, and Sam slid to his knees.

Sam's terrified eyes darted between the two beings, both wearing his brother's face.

“Hey, Dean. Sammy. Where ya goin'?” The black-eyed Dean stood, pulling a knife from his boot and shaking out his shoulders.

“Sammy, stay back. That's not me, it's Lucifer.” Dean stepped between Sam and the being near the stairs, pulling his 1911 from the back of his jeans.

“Hardly. You gonna put a bullet in me, Dean? You'd only be hurting yourself.” The Dean with the knife smirked, and the Dean with the gun fired, the sound colossally loud in the narrow hallway. The knife clattered to the floor. Sam saw the hole in the black-eyed Dean's shirt, the blood spreading and darkening the fabric over his heart.

Both Deans froze.

“Ow.” The black-eyed Dean looked down at his chest, annoyed. He bent and picked up his knife.

“Stop.” The Dean protecting Sam pointed the gun at the other's face.

The black-eyed Dean smirked and snapped his fingers. There was a sickening crunch, and Sam's Dean crumpled bonelessly to the ground, a puppet with its strings cut, the gun falling from limp fingers.

“No! Dean!!” Sam crawled to the still form of his brother, eyes blank and dead, his head at an unnatural angle on his shoulders. Sam sank his hands into Dean's shirt, refusing to let him go.

“Sammy.”

For all the world, the black-eyed Dean sounded exactly like the one that he had just watched die. “You... you're a demon. You're not my brother.”

“Well, you're right and you're wrong.” The Dean that was still walking and talking pressed the toe of his boot against the dead one's cheek, turning his head. Sam heard the bones grind again. “I _am_ a demon. And I _am_ your brother. Dean 2.0. You made me this, Sammy. And now you get to deal with the consequences. Get up.”

Sam was hopelessly confused. How... how was any of this his fault? He was trapped, how could he have made Dean a demon? Was this Dean going to get him out, as well? Did he know about the reaper gate? “P-please, we... we have to go...”

“Oh, you're not going _anywhere_ , Sammy. Get the fuck up.”

Sam did, lurching to his feet and trying to side-step Dean, making a run for the stairs. Before he had managed three steps, though, he was grabbed and slammed face-first against the wall, pinned immobile.

But Dean was a good five feet away.

Sam watched him approach with wide eyes, heart hammering in his chest.

Dean stepped directly behind Sam, and Sam couldn't see him.

“Tell me, Sammy. Do they fuck you in here, in the cage?” Dean's voice was soft, in Sam's ear.

“De... Dean, please...” Sam whimpered. “Help me. The gate...”

“I'm betting they do. I'm betting you're Lucifer and Michael's whore.”

Sam couldn't deny it, not really, though their violence didn't tend to be sexual very often.

“Yeah. That's what I thought.” Dean pressed his groin against Sam's ass, and Sam felt the hard line of his cock through his own ragged pants and Dean's denim.

“Dean.” Sam sobbed out, refusing to accept what was happening when escape was _so close_. Panic and horror were choking out the tiny spark of hope within him. “Please...”

Dean took a step backward, and Sam could have cried with relief, until he felt cold steel at the back of his neck. Dean drew the blade downward, barely scratching Sam's skin, but splitting the tattered fabric of his shirt, until his back was bare.

The blade didn't stop, proceeding to slice into the thin fabric of his pants, until his ass was bare, as well. Sam shivered, praying this wasn't really happening.

“Stay.” Sam could hear the smirk in Dean's voice, and the presence behind him moved away. Sam saw him approach the corpse on the ground, out of the corner of his eye. Dean seemed to consider it for a long moment, before bending and picking up the gun.

Sam clenched his eyes tight, terrified. He prayed to God, to Castiel, to anyone who might hear - to Lucifer and to Michael to please, please not let this be happening. The menacing presence moved behind him again, and a frightened whimper slipped from his lips.

“Sammy. You know, don't you, that your brother always wanted to fuck you.” Dean's voice was conspiratorial, low in Sam's ear. Sam felt the muzzle of the gun press hard into the hollow at the base of his skull.

“N-no... please...”

“Yes.” A vicious jab of the gun made Sam whimper again. “He always wanted you. Even when you were a _kid_.” Dean's voice was filled with a venomous sort of glee. “Wanted to know how good that little twelve-year old mouth would feel around his cock, wanted to feel it in your throat, his hand wrapped around your scrawny neck.”

The gun traced its way down Sam's spine, achingly slow.

Sam clamped his mouth shut, refusing to acknowledge what the monster wearing his brother's face was saying.

“Yeah.” The gun bumped over every one of Sam's vertebrae, harsh steel dragging over vulnerable skin. “Yeah, he wanted you. He wanted you right up until I snapped his fucking neck. And because _I'm him_ , new and improved, that means I want you too, Sammy.”

Sam shuddered and tried to bolt, only to find that his muscles, his arms and legs didn't want to listen to him. He was held immobile, cheek smushed against the bloodstained wall. He started to hyperventilate. The gun had slid to the dip of Sam's lower back, just above his ass.

“Not gonna beg me to stop, Sammy? You that much of a whore now?” Dean mused, and Sam felt the gun slide to the top of his ass crack.

Sam's self-imposed silence shattered. “P-please, Dean, please, don't... don't...” Sam's voice stuttered and died as the gun continued its downward slide, between Sam's cheeks, finally stopping against Sam's hole, pressure barely there. The tears building in Sam's eyes slipped down his cheeks.

Sam felt Dean shift behind him, uncertain what was happening, but the blunt, gentle pressure of the gun at Sam's hole didn't change. On his left hip, Dean's hand brushed aside the tattered remnants of Sam's pants and gripped hard. 

“Yeah, I think you're just about enough of a whore to enjoy this.” Dean's voice was tight with something Sam couldn't identify, before Dean rammed the gun up and inside Sam with all the force he could muster.

Sam screamed, violated and torn, searing pain tearing through him. He felt the trigger guard pressed against his perineum, heard Dean's dark chuckle, and the familiar sensation of his own blood flowing hot over his skin. Sam's fingers clawed against the wall.

“You like that, huh?” Dean's voice was thick with lust. He pulled the gun out a little, only to ram it back in, drawing a broken groan from Sam's mouth. He fucked Sam mercilessly with the gun for a few moments as Sam trembled and cried, before seeming to bore of it. He yanked the gun out, tossing it aside and licking a long stripe up the blood trailing down Sam's thigh.

Sam's brain had kind of shut off under the vicious thrusts from the gun, the sickening, tearing pain, but snapped back when he felt Dean's tongue against his skin.

“Tasty.”

Sam felt Dean shift behind him again, felt a harsh hand wrap around his upper arm, roughly turning him and pressing his back to the wall. Sam kept his eyes closed tight, and Dean's lips, wet with Sam's blood, pressed against his. Sam kept his mouth shut tight, until vicious fingers on his jaw forced his mouth open.

Dean violated Sam's mouth, filling it with his twisting, probing tongue and the sickening flavour of his own blood. Sam endured, utterly still.

Dean pulled back eventually. “A little more enthusiasm would be nice.” He almost sounded hurt, and Sam hated the part within himself that oozed guilt like tar.

“Get on your knees.” Dean instructed, his voice even and neutral.

“No.” Sam's voice was small, and the word slipping from his mouth seemed to surprise Dean almost as much as it surprised Sam himself. Sam opened his eyes. Dean looked a little taken aback.

“Get on your knees, Sammy.” Dean repeated, and he smiled. It was truly a thing of horror – edged like broken glass, lips and teeth stained with Sam's blood.

Sam's courage wilted a little, and he stared silently at Dean.

“Get on your knees...” Dean enunciated carefully and slowly, as though addressing a toddler. “... or I'll break every bone in your neck, like I did to your brother.”

Sam risked a glance at the crumpled form of the Dean who had been trying to save him, green eyes empty and glassy. His eyes returned to the inky ones of the Dean in front of him, and though Sam's eyes were filled with tears, and his knees shook, his voice was remarkably steady. “Do it, then.” He lifted his chin, just a little defiantly.

There was a brief flash of annoyance across Dean's face, and his lip curled. Dean took a half-step back, and Sam was slammed to his knees by the same force that had thrown him at the wall. His left hit first, and he distinctly heard the crack of his kneecap breaking. Sam groaned as pain shot through him, hot and sharp and sickening. He tried to struggle back upwards, but the pain and the invisible force kept him down. He lowered his head, panting, and felt a gentle touch on his shoulder. He turned his head just enough to see, and saw two of Dean's fingers resting there.

“You belong on your knees, Sammy. Whores belong on their knees. Now, open your mouth.”

Sam kept his head down, his gaze on the floor, his mouth clamped shut. He shook his head, no.

Suddenly the pressure on his shoulders increased hugely, grinding the sharp, broken edges of the bone into the flesh of Sam's knee. Sam managed not to scream, the sound escaping his mouth as a strangled groan. To his horror, his face was forced upwards, and he stared wide-eyed at the monster smirking down at him. Dean touched Sam's bottom lip gently, and the irresistible force opened Sam's mouth wide, freezing him in place.

“Good boy.” Dean unfastened his belt and his fly as Sam panicked and cried before him, unable to speak. Dean rested the tip of his cock on Sam's bottom lip, held it there with one hand as the other sank into the hair on the back of Sam's head.

Dean slammed his hips forward, burying his cock in Sam's throat with a groan, Sam gagging and choking. “That's it. Good whore.” The hand clenched tighter in Sam's hair. “Watch the teeth.”

If he had been able to move, Sam would happily have sank his teeth into the demon's cock. He'd have bitten it off and spat it out. 

“Teeth. Last warning.” Dean panted, still buried in his brother's throat.

Sam refused to comply. He turned watering, furious eyes onto Dean's.

“All right. Let's see how long it takes you, then, to get with the program.”

There was a small snap of a bone breaking and searing pain from Sam's left wrist. Sam would've groaned, if he'd been able to breathe at all. Another small snap, and the pain doubled, and Dean still didn't move.

Sam didn't even know what he wanted – to breathe, to cradle his twice-broken wrist, to get away, to crawl, if he had to to the _gate_...

Another small snap, another broken bone, and Sam started to shake. Everything was pain and horror and his vision was beginning to grey out. _No more, please, no..._ Another tiny snap interrupted his internal pleading.

“ _Teeth_ , Sam.” Dean reminded, as Sam's consciousness was preparing to flee.

Needing desperately to breathe, wracked with pain and unable to withstand any more, Sam wrapped his lips over his teeth. Dean sighed and pulled his cock from Sam's mouth. Sam immediately began to cough, hauling in breaths as the greyness faded from his vision. When it did, Dean was still smirking down at him. Sam's head was still frozen in its tilted-back position, his mouth still held open, strings and drips of thick saliva trailing down his chin.

Sam couldn't even talk, couldn't even beg for mercy, for this to stop.

“Poor sad whore. Well, we're almost done here.” Dean stroked his spit-slick cock a few times before sliding it into Sam's mouth. Sam was careful to keep his lips over his teeth, not willing to endure any more searing pain in his wrist. He knew there were four more bones there Dean could break, and wouldn't put it past him to do it.

“Now, here's how this is going to go.” Dean thrust in and out of the tight vise of Sam's throat. “I'm going to release you. You're going to sit still and take it, and you're going to swallow my come, and I'll let you go to your precious gate, okay?”

 _The gate!_ Sam tried to indicate his agreement with his gaze, but he wasn't sure Dean understood. Dean watched him as all of the invisible holds on Sam released. Sam sagged a little, but tried not to move as Dean abused his throat. The pain in his knee, wrist and ass seemed to double.

“Look at you go!” Dean mocked, thrusting a little harder as Sam struggled to breathe when he could, gagging and trying not to vomit. Dean finished in his mouth with a groan, and Sam struggled to swallow the hot, bitter fluid. After the last few spurts, Dean shuddered and stepped backwards. Sam closed his mouth, jaw aching, and said nothing.

Dean walked to the base of the stairs and sat, elbows on his knees. “Go, then.” Dean gestured up the stairs. Sam looked, unable to see very far, as they curved sharply off to the right. 

It was agonizing for Sam to pull himself to his feet, limping and cradling his broken wrist to his chest. It was even more agonizing to climb the stairs, but Sam had the thought of freedom to sustain himself. 

He hadn't gotten far, though – Dean was just barely out of sight when the stairs ended abruptly in a wall. A perfectly blank wall. No runes, no door, no gate – just a wall. He pushed against it with what little strength he had, but it was... just a wall.

Heartsick, tears streaming down his face, Sam made his painful way back down the stairs, thinking to ask Dean if there'd been some sort of mistake, something...

Dean was still in his spot on the bottom stair, grinning up at Sam. Except it wasn't Dean, it was Lucifer. Sam glanced at his fallen brother, to see Michael picking himself up, dusting himself off.

Sam's thoughts whited out in panic.

“Well, that was fun.” Michael opined, in his smooth, young John Winchester voice. “It's been a long time since our little toy had any _hope_.”

“It was! Just look at him, crushed with disappointment.” Lucifer mock-pouted.

Sam said nothing. He walked slowly, painfully to the base of the stairs, using them to lower himself to his knees, trying to keep the pressure off the mangled one.

He cowered. Sometimes... sometimes they went easier on him, when he cowered.


End file.
